Somebody to Love
by RynQuillin
Summary: The story of how Kurt and Blaine fell in love in NYC in the summer of 1969.  Kurt's a club singer Blaine's a newly outed upstate boy with nowhere to turn.  War, social stigma, and their own stubbornness try to keep them apart.  Can they get it together?
1. Chapter 1 part 1 of 2

April 1969:

Blaine Anderson had gotten a sudden rush of bad vibrations standing in front of the courthouse that spring morning. And to think all week he had gone without worry.

"It's alright mom, it's probably just a mistake."

"No Aunt Nancy, Blaine is not going to Vietnam, they just sent him the draft notice on accident. That's right, he is enrolled in college. Since last October…"

"It's fine. I'll just go down to the courthouse on Sunday and work it out."

Yet now, fresh out of the cab, in suit jacket and tie, he had to wonder, what if it didn't work out? He couldn't go to Vietnam. Not simply because he would have to hide his sexuality (Well he already had to do that but it was the principle goddammit!) but because he was a private school kid bound for college and none of his school friends got draft notices. He just wanted to sing do-wop and study Machiavelli, what was so wrong with that?

He stepped up on the curb and looked for some sign of where to go to talk to the recruiting agents. His eyes drifted to a bunch of guys about his age standing nearby, all with matching notices in their hands.

They stood together in a cluster of five and he'd never seen such a mismatched group. There was about seven feet of handsome whitebread all-American boy standing next to a fish-lipped bleach blond, one with a Mohawk that appeared mixed race, a Vietnamese boy in skinny jeans and tie-dye, and next to him, currently very much in the face of the mixed-race boy, was a brunette.

Blaine's eyes stayed on this one as he shuffled closer. He was white as stardust and his hair was quaffed back so immaculately he could've been a Kennedy (especially compared to the others). He wore a striped v-neck rolled up to the elbows and mod cut jeans. They appeared to be having an argument because Mohawk boy motioned to his Doc Martins (something about ass to kick) and the other one rolled his blue eyes.

"Would you quit being such a priss? I'm not going to war. I'll do what I haveta. I will beat down seven Lydon B. Johnsons if I haveta."

"You'll get yourself sent to jail, you're an idiot."

"You know what, candyass? I'm beginning to think we should've left you at home."

"If I could have stayed at home do you think I would be here right now?" Even though the tone was biting he had a melodic voice, smooth but noticeably feminine. Blaine wondered if he got teased for that.

"Oh like you have anything to worry about. They won't put you on a ship, queer as you are." Blaine watched the pale blue eyes catch fire. Yeah, he probably did get teased for it.

There was the screech of a heel turning before the entire group fumbled after as the pale one strutted into the state building. Blaine stayed on their coattails not so sure about going in alone. Well, he was alone. But at least standing near the rainbow coalition gave him some comfort. Apparently they had made amends within the four seconds it took to walk into the lobby because they were quickly all huddled together as if in a football game and the blonde one was talking.

"Alright, it's phys eval first, then psych so Hummel's golden…"

"Tch."

"Well it's true, okay?" The blond put his hands up. "Mike, where's the list again?"

The Asian guy shifted his eyes to the tallest of the group and as if remembering something the gargantuan dug into the pockets of his Levi's and pulled out a slip.

"Okay uh, ruptured spleen, bad eyes, flat feet, asthma, invalid caregiver, college enrolled, war worker, spinal injuries, epi-"

"Epileptic, Finn."

"Right, epileptic. Um, multiple drug addictions, homosexuality, and bad physical fitness." He crumpled the paper up and shoved it in the pocket of his workshirt. It dawned on Blaine then that these guys weren't only hippies they were draft dodgers. He'd heard of them but never met any because again, boys like him didn't have to avoid the draft. In fact, the cosmic mistake that had him there at all would be sorted out shortly so better not to worry about it.

"A through K to the left. L through Z to the right. Groups of five only." A man in military uniform announced and all eyes seemed to go to the mohawked one.

"Ah shit. Should I tell them I'm Noah or Puck?"

"It goes by LAST name, Puckerman." Blue eyes shook his head and Blaine couldn't help but smirk.

"He's right. Sorry man." Finn shrugged. Puckerman scowled but the crowd shoved him off in the tide to the right and quickly he was gone.

"We still need a fifth." Mike said, dark eyes squinting.

"Hi." Wow. Did he step forward that quickly? They hadn't acknowledged him before so it probably seemed that he came out of nowhere. The brunette raised his eyebrows. "I'm Blaine Anderson. I don't think I'll be taking the evaluations since there's been some mix-up but if you need a fifth guy…" He offered his hand and the tall one shook it firmly.

"Hey dude. I'm Finn, this is Sam, Mike, and my brother Kurt."

"Cool. Curly's with us. We'd better get in there." Sam nodded to the gymnasium-type doors and everyone gave a firm nod of agreement.

Blaine stood on line with the group of them, as the room of young men shuffled slowly towards the exam stations in their groups. Blaine was widely ignored, and almost feeling uncomfortable when he heard that voice again.

"Blaine Anderson, huh?" Kurt asked with a curious twist of the lip.

"Yeah." Blaine offered a charming smile.

"Kurt Hummel."

"Nice meeting you, Kurt." He replied and Kurt smiled in return. "So is that guy-" He looked up at the man about a head taller than the both of them. "Really your brother?"

"Step-brother." Kurt clarified with a coy tilt of the head.

"Oh, I see. And that other one…" Blaine asked nodding his head in the opposite direction, eliciting a laugh.

"No. Puckerman's not my brother. He's our roommate."

"Really? You live with him? The way he was talking to you-"

"Oh Noah's always like that. He won't admit it but he needs me. I'm his sometime bandmate and, more importantly, his mechanic."

"Wow. You fix cars?" Okay, so Blaine didn't mean to be blown away and he realized he probably sounded like a total ditz because of the smarmy look the other boy gave him.

"I know, seems like an awfully straight activity doesn't it? But my dad owns a garage so I grew up with it."

"Oh I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. I know I'm a walking stereotype. But hey, I'm gay and I wear it proudly. That's what's going to get me out of being shipped overseas."

"Yeah I'm not even supposed to be here, either. I'm enrolled at Columbia next semester so… I mean, there is no way I am going to Vietnam. I can't." Emphasis on the word "can't."

"Yeah. I figured."

"Why?" Oops. Good job Hummel, you probably offended him. What could he say? Because you're too Ivy League Prince Charming to be out wading in some swamp under sniper fire with the lower half of your graduating, that's why?

"Well that is… Why fight in a war that they won't even call a war for a country that doesn't even believe in you or your rights?" He answered, taking the political approach. "Besides, the number of times you've smoothed your jacket in the past ten minutes says as much."

"Anderson…" The examiner called and Blaine shuffled in his little cubby of a changing room to pull his sweater off. They had to strip down to their shorts and he was first to step out as the others were called. "Chang… Evans… Hudson… Hummel…" Kurt was the last to emerge and Blaine watched curiously.

He just stood there, arms crossed, hip cocked, the same color as appleblossoms, fashionably thin, and totally out of place. Blaine couldn't help but stare. (Well out of the corner of his eye he stared. He couldn't be that obvious!). He accredited it to simple curiosity because he'd never actually seen another gay guy in just his shorts before. After all, his own torso was scattered with dark hairs and Kurt had just a ghosting of pale brown that led down from the navel of his flat but in differing from the other four's, not muscular stomach.

The doctors that populated the tiny examining room with them had every arm measuring, knee-knocking, face prodding, Victorian-era dentistry doodad known to man. And their group of five got to experience each. Blaine didn't care for leering but the way he caught Kurt's back arching when the doctor pressed the cold stethoscope to his skin was absolutely flawless.

Kurt wasn't for leering either (usually). In fact, he found the whole gay locker room fantasy cliché and completely inaccurate so he just crossed his arms and made like he didn't care. Yet he still found his eyes floating over to the new guy more than once. He was the first to step up in their line and there was nothing less than admirable on that body. He had a slightly olive skin tone and beautiful slicked back curls, short but not stocky, look at how wide those shoulders are, or the delightfully traceable lines of lean muscle on those abs. And another thing was how innocently preppy he was like the fact that he would dapperly avert his eyes whenever they happened to make contact or the way he naively tried to talk to the examiners about some paperwork mix-up as if they'd actually be willing to help him.

In the end, Mike Chang, through the aide of some unfortunate (although handy) racial stereotypes, managed to convince one particularly old doctor that he had 20/100 eyesight. Being that this was justifiably dismal, Mike's slip got a red stamp of "deferred: poor vision" and he was done. The other four of them, however, went on to psychological evaluation.

"I'm hoping we can do this fast." Kurt began tartly as he sat down in front of the psychologist. "I'm gay. You can ask anyone that knows me. In fact, that's my brother over there…. Finn! Hi!" Finn turned from a seemingly very serious conversation and gave a nervous wave. "Until your organization turns around its remarkably backward policies regarding my sexuality, there's no point in you even asking me any questions. Now you may be thinking that maybe I'm faking it, but I ask you-" Kurt placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward. "Do you really think I'd be able to fake this voice?"

Homosexual: stamped and filed. Once again, stereotypes save the day, oh bless poor old naïve Uncle Sam. Kurt was thinking on this when he found himself ramming into a rock hard torso covered by a familiar Pink Floyd t-shirt.

"Oh Puck, you got through unscathed I see. Did that penny you so disgustingly swallowed leave a nice mark on your X-ray?" Kurt asked in a mixture of elation and discomfort at the homophobic overtones of the entire adventure.

"Pssh. No." Puck frowned, looking around to make sure no one heard. "But I told them I was the last living boy to take care of poor old Nana Puckerman. They totally jumped at it."

"Hmm. Target shamelessly achieved, as always…"

"Where are the other guys?" Puck asked as Kurt caught a flash of black curls out of the corner of his eye. A very handsome, very distressed, looking Blaine was pleading animatedly with one of the psych guys.

"I'll… be right back."

"Hummel! Hey dude, don't you cut out when I'm talkin' to you!" But it was too late for that, Kurt Hummel was gone.

"No. No you don't understand…" Blaine shook his head, voice growing slightly higher in pitch.

"No, Mr. Anderson, I think you don't understand."

"But I'm enrolled-"

"You're not on the list."

"Not on the list? Mpph… I've been on the list since October! They'll be sending my school ID next August."

"I've seen them faked before." The interviewer replied flippantly, Blaine shoved his fingers in his hair.

"You have to be kidding. I can't go to Vietnam."

"I think you can. You did phenomenally on the physical evaluation and you aren't flat-footed or a drug addict…."

Blaire simply stared at this man in shock as he yammered on. His safe schoolboy world was exploding around him. It was absolutely unthinkable that this could actually happen to him. What would his parents say? Oh my God, what would Aunt Nancy say? His pulse sped up and he began to search for something, anything that could save him, his fingertips grew pink against the table as if clinging to that hardback copy of the works of Machiavelli his father bought him when the family announced that he got in to Columbia.

"I promise you I'll be enrolled by that next term."

"It'll be too late." Shock was slowly melting into acceptance. Blaine had just about begun to plan his own funeral when he heard a melodic voice behind him.

"Having some trouble, babe?" He turned and there was one Kurt Hummel. Blaine shook his head as if trying to shake off the confusion and offered two articulate syllables.

"Wha-t?" The man behind the table paused and set down his "passed" stamp.

"Hi. Are you the one holding my boyfriend up?" Kurt asked, hand poised immediately on the hip.

"Boyfriend?" Thank God the psychologist said it louder because Blaine had to repeat it under his breath as well. He was about to enter a whole new type of panic when he caught that glint in the other boy's eye. Well, it was less a glint and more of a searing force that screamed: "Play along or I will duct tape those pretty curls to your scalp." But either way it got the message across.

"Thought you could hide your little-boyfriend-, huh?" The interviewer asked. "You know the army does not like those who evade its policies." Blaine and Kurt exchanged a nervous glance and Blaine could see the brunette was actually bugging out somewhere behind the sass. The psych must've noticed because he raised a gross furry eyebrow. "If this really is your boyfriend, that is." Blaine moved first this time.

"Well of course he is." Blaine stood up awkwardly and wrapped his palm around the taller boy's arm. "I'm sorry it's been taking so long, Kurt." God, the name felt so forced. He could actually feel those judging eyes leering at them.

"That's okay, sweetie." Kurt leaned a hesitant inch closer, also aware that they were being watched. This had to be convincing. If he screwed this up they'd probably send him to jail or something. Shit! What the hell was he doing? He just met this Blaine guy and here he was saving his ass. Would he really have to kiss him? Well the guy was a dreamboat Elvis Presley Marlon Brando lovechild, but still! Okay Hummel, keep it together. Foolishly sweet guys like him don't belong at war, he'll be torn to pieces out there, like worse than that one time when Santana and Mercedes wore the same Dacron yoke-neck number to Tina's party... so much worse. He looked at the ground and then up at the gorgeous olive tone jaw line and ruddy well-turned lips. Play along, brown eyes, I really don't want you to die.

Kurt moved closer, face angled downward while wide blue eyes ordered Blaine to keep going from behind long eyelashes. Blaine's stomach felt like it was full of electrical conductors but he followed suit. He tilted his head opposite the other boy's and moved into the kissing space at what felt like a ridiculously slow rate. Okay, I can do this. He thought, feeling his heart going at supersonic speeds as that sacred personal space was painstakingly intruded further and further upon. Blaine had always been one to understand the notion of polite distance, polite ways of speaking, polite methods of courting a beautiful girl. He felt a sting of heat on his cheek as the warmth of their breath intermingled in a centimeter of remaining open air. His hand held a touch tighter to Kurt's upper arm and he swore he felt a thin finger looped beneath his shirt collar as he braced himself to kiss a practical stranger. The skin of their noses touched softly when-

"That's it!" The psychologist yelled and they flew away from each other in a millisecond. They didn't even kiss. Still the psychologist was convinced enough. "Both of you beat it! I don't need a couple of queers mocking this army by swapping spit on my watch." No more information needed for Kurt. He made a grab for the elbow of Blaine's jacket and pulled them out of there. Blaine only got a second to glimpse the stamper slam down those two permanent red words on his draft paper "deferred: homosexual."

"Oh-my-God- I never thought he'd buy it!" Kurt exclaimed when they were a safe distance away. He turned to Blaine to stammer an apology or demand gratitude one of the two, he hadn't decided which, when Blaine picked him up in an unexpected hug. They laughed before awkwardly breaking contact again. Puck and Mike had been waiting in the lobby and didn't even ask as the four of them headed out of the courthouse. Mike was the first out as he nearly literally flew down the stairs to Tina who was waiting at the bottom looking as adorable and bright-faced as ever. They embraced as he picked her up and kissed her, legs twirling as he spun her around because somehow she already knew, he was safe. Kurt exhaled, relieved that this was him too, that they made it. The doors opened once again, producing Finn and Sam.

"About time you dorks showed face!" Puckerman hooted. "C'mon lets go, I'm starving! You can tell us how you duped the fuzzheads over fries."

"See that's the thing…" Sam dragged a hand from his pocket to scratch his lemon blond hair before deferring to Finn.

"Yeah. We uh, we actually enlisted."


	2. Chapter 1 part 2 of 2

Shock. All that effort to remain out of Vietnam's fire and Kurt felt like he'd been shot in the back of the head. He didn't even remember inviting Blaine to come along but he must have because the boy was sitting next to him in the booth at Sandy's watching in horror as Puckerman and Kurt himself shouted at Finn and Sam over their menus.

"What's your fuckin' bag man, their war? THEIR war?"

"Seriously, especially you, Finn. WHAT was going through your head? Do you have ANY idea what this will do to Dad and Carole?"

"We agreed to dodge the draft." Puck motioned around the table and Mike nodded in silent agreement as Tina clung to his arm. "That was the plan. We ALL agreed."

"Okay would you both just SHUT UP?" Finn demanded, finally standing up to the slew of abuse from his roommates. Kurt and Puck went quiet. "I know that was the plan."

"Then why would you-"

"Because dodging the draft isn't going to win the war, you guys! Look, I was going to do like we planned but I got talking to this recruiter guy and he told me that I could get money for college… you know, and Rachel's really gonna be going places after her show opens, I want to be able to keep up with that. I don't wanna be an East Village sponge my whole life. Maybe I go do this soldier thing and find out I'm actually good at it, I don't know! My old man died fighting for that army, maybe I could like, finish what he started for his memory. Would you guys just respect that?" Sam seemed to agree with Finn, saying that he could be the first in his family to actually graduate college from this. Kurt hated them both for being so stupid and he hated them more for having a point. The conversation simmered down after that as everyone got past the anger and began to soak in just how heavy the whole thing was. Blaine, who had been numb-mouthed for the entire ordeal took this opportunity to grab Kurt by the arm and drag him into the men's room.

"I'm sorry about your friends, Kurt. I just wanted to say thank you so much for what you did earlier…" Blaine explained, feeling like he'd have no other chance to say this.

"Can I ask you a question?" Completely off topic. Why was it so impossible to have a sensible conversation with this kid? But his voice was tender and delicate and he looked confused, a swollen mouth and brilliantly blue eyes staring right at Blaine curiously…

"Sure."

"Are you gay?" Wham. Now it was Blaine's turn to feel like he'd been shot. Right in the heart. Nobody had ever asked so directly before. Nobody had ever asked at all. And here was Kurt, the first gay man he'd ever met, and one that in many respects had saved him, asking.

"Yes I am, but nobody knows…" He replied, surprising himself.

"Why not?"

"Well mostly because of my parents. They're not the types that would understand. Plus I went to this private boy's school, Dalton, and I was always worried that maybe they'd kick me out. You're actually the first person I've ever told."

"Wow." Kurt's eyes widened as he seemed to take this in, apparently humbled by the compliment.

"Look, I want to talk to you again, is there some way I can contact you?" Blaine blurted out.

"You're leaving?"

"I have to but I feel like I can't do that without knowing how to reach you." His parents would be worried soon and while he admitted that this boy had saved his life he couldn't stay there any longer. Kurt swung around and grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser.

"This is my number." He explained, scrawling something down and handing it to Blaine.

"Thanks, Kurt. You're a life-saver really, I gotta book it. I'm sorry."

"Can you land a cab?"

"Yeah. No sweat. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay. Uh, cool."

"Yeah, righteous." He smiled like a dork and Kurt couldn't help but notice the way his brown eyes sparkled at him as he turned to leave.

Blaine wasn't three steps out the door when Kurt inexplicably turned around and vomited nonfat mocha into the Sandy's men's room sink.

It was going to be one hell of a summer.


	3. Chapter 2

June 1969:

It would be two months before Kurt Hummel heard from Blaine Anderson again.

"Hullo?"

"Hello. Is Kurt there?" The voice was weary and clearly uncomfortable.

"Hey, Hummel!"

"Jesus, Puck, I'm right here." Kurt rolled his eyes and set his hand to his hip, tambourine still in his fingers when he went to wrestle the phone from Puckerman's grip. "Hello? Oh, Blaine!" He dropped the tambourine and held the phone with both hands, prompting the other men in the room to exchange looks. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you again." He shifted his weight between his feet. "Wait- what's that? They WHAT? …Okay stay there. No I mean it. Where are you? Blaine, it's pouring. Stay there." Kurt hung up quicker than the other boy could object.

"What's his bag?" Mike muttered from behind the drumset. Mike was their fill-in for Finn, not too handy yet, but bless him, he tried.

"Blaine's parents kicked him out." Kurt explained in a breath.

"So?" Puckerman shrugged, earning yet another withering glance.

"Puck, it's pouring upstate, we need to go get him."

"Wait, upstate?" Artie set his guitar aside and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "If I'm not mistaken, that's the 'rich' side of town. And we don't have many rich friends so- this must be that cat you were drawing designs on at the army recruiters, correct?"

"Okay, I wasn't drawing designs on anyone." Kurt defended to a less than convinced audience. "But yes, that's the one. And if you guys aren't coming I'm going by myself."

"Fine. Go rescue Blaire-"

"Blaine, Puck."

"-Blaine. Solo. We're staying here to rehearse."

"Fine." Kurt turned and headed out towards the door to the apartment. "But I'm taking the Pontiac."

"Oh no way you're touching my Pontiac, Hummel." Puck called as he removed the guitar and chased the brunette down.

The only newly distinguishable feeling apart from depression and shock when Blaine hung up with Kurt was doubt. He left the phone booth and wandered back to the bench he'd been slumming on before and put his face in his hands.

"_Blaine, what's this?" A carbon copy of his draft notice was shoved in his face, complete with the fat stamp of "deferred: homosexual" right across the center._

"_Blaine, sweetie, tell us this must've been some kind of mistake."_

"_It's nothing."_

"_The United States Army does not label my son a queer for nothing!"_

The words still cycled through his mind, grinding at his thoughts, much like the image of the door slamming in his face paired with the angry rumblings of early summer rain. And now, after calling the one person that might be able to help him, the greatest thing he felt was doubt. Sure, Kurt would understand better than Blaine figured any of his school friends would, but they barely knew each other. So he had to doubt that calling him had been the right thing to do, while simultaneously doubting whether he'd ever see his family again, find a place to stay the night, or ever get out of this damn rain. So Blaine sat and passed the time criticizing every choice he had made in the past three years until his black hair was so wet it was plastered to his forehead. Then Kurt pulled up.

He came flying out of some growling beast of a car, the thing was decked and jacked up and based on the looks from Puck in the driver's seat it was a dragster. Then there was Kurt running towards him with still perfectly quaffed hair and a Technicolor raincoat over those thin shoulders. Blaine stood to greet him, becoming vaguely aware of the puffiness under his eyes and the general drowned rat appearance.

"Oh my gosh, Blaine. Are you okay?" Kurt asked, with far too much emotion in those rosy cheeks.

"Look, maybe I shouldnt've called." Blaine answered as he turned his face away, embarrassed that he was soaked to the bone and looking thoroughly pathetic. "I'll be fine, y'know. You shouldn't have come all the way out here. I just didn't have anyone else to ring." Kurt's eyes wandered from him to the suitcase under the bench.

"Blaine, you really don't have anywhere to stay, do you?" He responded with a soggy shrug and Kurt cringed. "Come on, get in the car." Blaine looked up and made eye contact with a less than amused Puck whose face had taken on a gorilla-like appearance and had a large arm poised to slam on the horn. Blaine shook his head so Kurt took a less diplomatic approach. "Blaine Anderson, you get in that car right now or I will drag you there and these shoes are Pierre Cardin."

The following ride was silent until Kurt turned to him from the opposite side of the back seat and simply asked, "So what happened?"

Blaine sighed, "My mother's a file clerk and she was checking on why my enrollment at Columbia didn't go through-" He seemed to get a bad taste in his mouth. "And she found my draft file."

"So they know that you're…"

"Yeah. They know that I'm gay." Blaine finished, looking up at Puck who seemed entirely unfazed. Maybe in Kurt's world those words didn't have the destructive effect as in Blaine's.

"This is my fault, I'm sorry."

"No. I had my chance to deny it. I could've easily convinced them but, I just went numb. They asked me and I just didn't have it in me to say 'no'." Blaine explained, feeling like even more of an idiot. Kurt looked at him sympathetically.

"I came out to my dad after I quit the football team." Wham.

"I bet he was hacked." Blaine mumbled, remembering Kurt's father was a small town mechanic.

"Well he wasn't exactly pleased but he accepted me for it and was actually really cool. He threatened to ignite the school once because I was treated kinda like a skuzz back then." That earned a chuckle from the front seat.

The ride took a decidedly lighter turn after that and Blaine discovered that he and Kurt actually had really compatible personalities. Talking about how Yves Saint Laurent was the way of the future Blaine actually forgot he was in a soaking wet suit and his un-gelled hair probably looked like hell.

They arrived at Kurt and Puck's apartment which was far deeper into the city than Blaine had ever been. Inside there was minimal furnishing but the rooms were actually fairly large. It was airy and clean, probably thanks to Kurt seeing how Puck just threw his damp jacket and boots off as soon as they got in.

"Mike and Artie are gone."

"Probably to get booze. Said they were going to Tina's later." Puck shrugged, opening the refrigerator and promptly slamming it again.

"Blaine, come here. I'll show you where you can sleep tonight." Kurt motioned, heading out of the living room towards the one bedroom. Blaine lugged the suitcase after him.

The room had two beds at opposite ends. One had brown sheets and a rolled up comforter next to it that yes, appeared to have cowboys on it and the other was neat and plain white. Kurt ran a soft hand along the brown one. "You can sleep here. It was Finn's but he and Sam shipped out a couple weeks ago." Kurt shrugged.

"That's yours?" Blaine set his suitcase down and pointed to the one opposite.

"Yeah. Finn and I shared a room for two years in high school… but if you're uncomfortable-" Kurt began and Blaine shook his head.

"No. It's fine. You don't have to do this, you know." Kurt seemed unfazed.

"It's fine. We have friends staying here all the time, plus it'll be nice having someone around so there's three of us here again. Oh, one warning though-" he tipped his shoulder cutely and began to unbutton his coat. "I'm a sleepwalker so watch out."

"You've saved my life twice now, what am I supposed to do?"

"No, the first time I saved your life. This time it's just helping out a friend." He smiled and shouldered his raincoat off. "Now get changed. We're going to Tina's tonight."

While Blaine wasn't so sure about the idea Kurt insisted that Blaine could use one night of distraction. Kurt didn't take the other boy's situation lightly he just figured maybe a single night's break from crushing heartache was worth it. His arguments finally worked and he cast Blaine out to the bathroom to change.

It turned out that "going to Tina's" was quite the event. Blaine found himself faced with an extension of the rainbow coalition he had met in the courthouse two months ago.

"Okay umm, explain to me how you know all these people?" he whispered to Kurt.

"Alright well these three guys," he motioned with his cup to Puck, Artie, and Mike "and I have a regular gig performing covers down at Lucy's, that's the club. And Quinn here," he motioned to the pretty girl holding a baby and standing next to Puck. "Her mother owns the place." He lowered his voice so only Blaine would hear "And she has an on and off thing with Puck but best not to talk about it." He brightened up again. "Anyway, so that's Santana, she's a bartender there, and that's her girlfriend Brittany, who's a dancer, much like our fill-in for Finn, Mike, who happens to be dating Tina. Then these two beautiful creatures," he indicated the remaining two, intertwining the fingers of his free hand with the black girl's next to him. "Are my best friends Mercedes and Rachel. Rachel is Finn's girlfriend."

"That's right. In fact, the new show 'Oklahoma!' which I'll be featuring in is opening in a week. While I lament the inability of my boyfriend to attend I'm always welcoming of new fans. You should come!" Rachel grinned excitably at Blaine.

"Don't let her fool you, she's in the chorus." Kurt whispered, although apparently not quietly enough.

"Hmm, he can join my chorus line anytime." Santana cooed seductively, running a hand down Blaine's arm and making both of them jump.

"Santana, he's gay." Kurt rolled his eyes as he adjusted his hair.

"So? So am I." The latina shrugged and Kurt shot her a look. Tina hopped in, quick to change the subject.

"So Blaine, do you sing?" she asked and Blaine's brown eyes instantly lit up.

"Yes I do. Actually I was the lead soloist of my acapella group in high school, the Warblers."

"The Warblers?" Puck sneered. "Sounds like we got a doo whopper in our midst, I bet he's all Beach Boys and mo-town"

"Well you like that kind of stuff, Noah." Quinn replied.

"Pssh. No. I'm rock and roll, I ain't no square."

"Is that so?" She handed him the baby and twirled out of his hold. "Because I always thought you liked this one." She looked to Santana and Brittany who sauntered forward. The blonde girl turned and whispered in Artie's ear. Artie nodded and played a couple of fast plucky chords on his guitar.

_Set me free, why don't cha babe?  
>Get out my life, why don't cha babe?<br>'Cause you don't really love me  
>You just keep me hangin' on…<em>

The girls swung their hips in time with the music, first Quinn, Brittany, and Santana, then Mercedes and Tina and a coy reluctant-but-not-really Rachel until the room was a swirling mass of mini-skirts. Blaine grinned as he crossed his arms and watched. Music just made him… so happy. Even here, in an environment that was so radically different than his perfectly-tuned matching blazers world of the Warblers. It was new and remarkably free. He almost forgot, there in the company of all these strange people, about how truly alone he was. He glanced over and saw Kurt's pink mouth lip-synching every word and rolling his head wildly.

"Do all of your friends sing?" Blaine finally asked with an awed chuckle, finally catching the other boy's attention. Kurt just gave him that smug look and in a flash of plaid was gone, joining in step with the girls. He came in with white hands flying and waist twisting in sweet little Motown patterns and a gorgeous voice just the slightest tone deeper than theirs.

_Woo, set me free, why don't cha babe?  
>Get out my life, why don't cha babe?<br>_

And he just went on singing, in a mob of girls looking like The Supremes on acid. The other guys were into it to so Blaine guessed these jam sessions were a regular thing. Even Puckerman was reluctantly grinning and holding that baby girl's arms in little Diana Ross poses as Mike tried to find a balance between dancing and beating along the woodworked walls with a spare drumstick. No one even seemed to care when Kurt belted out the last stanza (about a man, nonetheless) with shamelessness and openness Blaine envied so damned much.

_Why don't you be a man about it  
>And set me free?<br>Now you don't care a thing about me  
>You're just using me<br>Go on, get out, get out of my life!  
>And let me sleep at night…<br>'Cause you don't really love me  
>You just keep me hangin' on...<em>

Yes it was going to be one hell of a summer._  
><em>


	4. Chapter 2 afterword

Kurt didn't believe in Gods and he most definitely did not believe he was the type of guy that would draw-designs-with-the-eyes so to speak on anyone but watching Blaine sleep late that night... he swore he'd discovered some manner of Hercules.

Kurt really wasn't that quick to open up to people and yet he'd welcomed Blaine to live with him the second time of their meeting. There was just something so charming about the olive-oil skin and black curls and chocolate eyes. He was like a puppy, a well-mannered broken-hearted Ivy League puppy. There was a dreamy piping of Led Zeppelin's "Since I've Been Loving You" drifting under the door like smoke from the living room where Puck still had the radio on so late at night.

Kurt released a noiseless sigh and propped his cheek on his fist, shifting his folded legs as quietly as possible. He was curled up in the little egg-shaped chair which sat against the wall just on the center divide between his side of the room and the other. Finn told him he might as well move it to his side because poor Frankenteen was well-aware that he would never actually fit in the mod-inspired thing. Yet Kurt liked it in the center there, maybe as something symbolic, but mostly for the satisfaction of his eye for design. His eyes wandered to the folded cowboy duvet that he once so loathed but couldn't throw away because it was just so Finn. Yet it wasn't that dreamy schoolboy crush sort of clinging anymore, now it was acknowledgment of what his stepbrother meant as family. Kurt's ill-fated crush on the boy which had started back in freshman year, felt so far away now. Farther than ever now that there was a very fascinating tender-eyed actually-gay boy sleeping in his room.

Blaine slept so much more disorderly than he spoke or moved. His left arm was under the pillow, the other hanging over the edge and the sheets were a curling mass around him. His handsome face contorted as the subconscious probably gave into the worry of being outed and disowned all in one day.

Kurt didn't mean to stare. He sometimes had these nights where memories of his mother came rushing to him and the vision of a dresser in a house very far away haunted him with homesickness and he was struck with insomnia. This being one of those nights, he had gotten up and taken to his notebook with the intention to write a song (Rachel was always saying that the only way he and the boys could make the big time was if they wrote original songs), but nothing came to mind so he just took to doodling dreamily in the dark and admiring his new roommate…

He was taking in the curve of Blaine's back when he blushed to think of how ironic it was that Blaine had seen him nearly bare within an hour of their meeting and he had still banished him to a different room so the two of them could change. He simply recalled too well the tender cut of Blaine's abs and truth be told, behind the fierce confidence Kurt was actually really insecure. In a way his femininity was a blessing, take the army recruiters or the crowds his androgynous voice drew in at the club. But in other ways it was torture, because he really did like masculinity, especially boys like Blaine. And when Kurt Hummel fell in love he tumbled into it, breathlessly and uncontrollably, right down the rabbit hole. His breath hitched as Blaine curled his fingers and shifted his right arm to join the other under the pillow and heap of raven hair. It was already hopeless infatuation and he knew love would not wait long after.

Kurt folded his notebook up silently and convinced himself to get back to bed lest he fall back on his sacred morning moisturizing ritual. _I'm about lose to my worried mind,_ Robert Plant sang to him. Yes, he agreed. Yes, I am.

(A/N: "Since I've Been Loving You" was actually released in 1970 but I'd already written this when I discovered and the song is just too perfect and sexy to replace so imagine that Puck's tuned in to a live version, the way bands used to preview unreleased songs on radio stations back in the day.)


	5. Chapter 3

The days turned into a week surprisingly fast and Blaine learned how to suppress his anxiety fairly quickly. He kept thoughts of his parents and the impending task of paying for Columbia alone in the fall, at bay. He pushed it down so brutally although it bit at him constantly. He figured he might as well give into the almost hedonist philosophy Santana had explained to him: "Don't worry so much. Maybe your life is fucked, but I'll say what my Ama always said. 'Cuando la mierda empiece a salpicar… don't sweat it and rave on.' You'll have more fun here than you could ever have upstate, anyway. It's summertime, after all."

Yes, it was summer, and Blaine was delightfully surprised to find that Kurt and the boys actually did perform covers regularly at this club Kurt had rambled about. Judy Fabray owned the place, a woman who Puckerman called a "stone cold fox" and seemed to be on the upswing of some midlife crisis. The story, which he heard from a gossipy Mercedes, was that Ms. Fabray's husband Russel, was actually a conservative senator who had cut out on Quinn and Judy after having an affair with a total skag. A very nice prenuptial agreement left Judy with enough money to open Lucy's, and try to get her "Rockette days" back, whatever that meant. Well seeing as Puck was the father of Quinn's baby, Blaine managed to piece together how the band got that gig so easily. It was a real fine joint too, dark, with bead curtains at every door and a low, red-lit stage, that could've given refuge to Beatniks as well as rockers. In short, it was very New York. Blaine marveled at it, while Kurt mostly complained about how impossible it was to pick out outfits that looked good under cherry red stage light.

Blaine quickly learned how much fashion meant to Kurt. Any money made down at Lucy's was spent on rent and clothes, food be damned. Of course Blaine appreciated style too, or rather looking nice, to Kurt there seemed to be some distinction. Five days after Blaine moved in Kurt finally let himself dress in front of him. He'd watched that boy sidle into some unbelievably thinly tailored pedal-pushers, going on about how fashion was changing and a sensible person absolutely had to keep up. In fact, Kurt turned out to be immensely invested in the visual, that was, until he sang.

When he sang, all dedication went into that singular note and to hell if he grabbed his own hair too often as disturbed the sweetly combed strands, it didn't matter for that moment. Blaine once asked Puck why the brunette was even singing rock and roll instead of the songs he usually hummed around the house.

"It's the culture, man. Truth is, I'll bet you he'd rather sing 'Hello Dolly!' but he appreciates the music for what it is. He feels it. And when it comes down to- not one of us can pull off a Janis Joplin set like our boy." That would stick in Blaine's mind as probably the most profound thing Noah Puckerman had ever said to him. Of course the next thing he said was "Here, have a brewski." And shoved a pint in Blaine's hand.

"Thanks. Aren't you performing by the way?" Puck nodded at this and downed another one.

"But this song don't take so much concentration as relaxation." Blaine raised an eyebrow just as Puck slid out of the booth and climbed on stage. Then Kurt emerged.

"This one's for my friend, Blaine." Kurt smiled before taking a breath and stepping back as Artie began plucking at the strings.

_Summertime~ Child, your livin's- easy…_ The young man began, voice clean and angelic with just enough growl to pull it off. Blaine was enamored, especially by the fact that he was supposedly singing like that, moaning, rather, for him.

_Fish are, fish are jumping out  
>And the cotton, Lord,<br>Cotton's high, Lord so high._

He cooed. He actually cooed. Those powder blue eyes on Blaine just long enough to make his leg twitch.

_Your dad is rich  
>And your ma's so good-looking, babe…<br>She's lookin' good now…_

How he could sing something wrought with so much irony just blew him away. It was like this boy in scarves and pea coats saw right through him more and more as time went on, like looking through an hourglass. It was honestly terrifying, like moment the door to that cold 3-story colonial was shoved in his face and he was told never to come back.

_Hush, baby, baby, baby, baby now,  
>No, no, no, no, no, no, no,<br>Don't you cry, don't you cry._

He came back to reality as Kurt cocked a hip bone and lowered his eyelashes, and while the visual was delicious it shot that bit of blood back to his brain that Kurt, like so many others, was a performer. It was like when Blaine would side-step along with the other Warblers and sing sighs about love and other things he knew nothing about. It was just like that just on uppers. So he would lust for it but no way he was falling in love with it, because in the end he was alone. Somewhere drowned within that pint of beer it most definitely made sense.

Blaine Anderson would not fall in love with Kurt Hummel. As much as those pretty eyes clawed at him, he wouldn't. He absolutely would not.

(A/N: Santana's speech to Blaine translates simply to "When shit hits the fan…"

The song Kurt sings is "Summertime" by [my idol] Janis Joplin.

And also a quick thank you to TerribleSpy for some awesome suggestions. [Suggestions always welcome!])


	6. Chapter 4

(A/N: Thanks to TerribleSpy and mischief7manager for suggesting the Stonewall riots, which I had thought about for this but they inspired me to check the dates and it fits in perfectly.)

* * *

><p>Despite Blaine's silent promise to himself that he would not fall in love, there was an electricity to Kurt Hummel that was unavoidable. They slept in the same room, after all. And it was too good to pass up, the opportunity of companionship someone who <em>knew<em>, someone who actually understood what it was like. "Someone like me." Kurt once said to an apprehensive Mercedes who was far from ready to lose her best friend to some "Doe-eyed white boy". When it came down to it Kurt and Blaine had to seek each other out, maybe it was the way they always seemed to dress in color-coordinated outfits, or how they were finishing each other's sentences by Wednesday.

Their friendship blossomed over caffeine at first, sipping coffee in the morning and trading stories about which was worse, a little south New York town with a population of a thousand, or an upper-New York gated community that felt like a population of one. Once formalities dropped they often sat on Kurt's bed and just talked about things. Blaine spilled his guts about his entire life at Dalton and at home with his parents. He explained how his dad was a lawyer and his mother was a file clerk, and that they weren't really around much during the year so neither was he. He also explained about his far-from-diverse school and the Warblers and his two best friends Jeff and Thad, whom he really only spent time with at school, but still found some reason to call his best friends. Kurt listened to this and always found some point of interest or something to comment on, which was actually fairly new to a boy who spent every family dinner at a silent table with a single lonely chandelier light pouring over his academy blazer.

Now home life was filled with sound, he and Kurt would sing along to the radio or talk about studs when Puck was out racing (Blaine professed that Robert Redford was 'The Most', to which Kurt scoffed and insisted that Robert Conrad was the _only_ Robert worth a second glance). He convinced Kurt to let him teach him a dance routine he and the Warblers back in September based on a medley of songs by The Temptations. Kurt was suspicious at first but Blaine's wide-eyed opportunistic attitude was too much and he gave. The entire venture started out serious, and then turned to well-meaning teasing and finally unraveled to falling over each other's feet and giggling, hardly trying at the side-steps and ball-changes. Blaine grew into a habit of touching Kurt's shoulder and arm, which at first made them both blush but quickly became the norm. Like best friends, they'd often verbally spar with each other (Blaine tried to justify a short schoolboy crush on Barbra Streisand and Kurt was having nothing of it) they'd also have similar matches with Puck. They spent every waking hour together, unless Kurt was performing in which case Blaine would watch in the company of Santana, Tina, and others.

He learned from them that Kurt classified as a "queen", thanks to his slender figure and the pretty, occasionally mascara-laden eyelashes he'd flutter from time to time. "You don't have to be parading around in drag to get that title." Kurt explained over Chinese takeout, three weeks into their cohabitation.

"So what am I?" Blaine responded curiously.

"You're a sweater."

"A sweater?" Blaine shook his head and practically choked on his lo mein.

"Yeah, a sweater gay. Well-dressed intellectual types, upstate boys…" Upstate. That word always made him think about his life before Kurt and Lucy's and the "New Direction" kids.

"I'm glad I got out of that drag." Blaine grumbled, which was only a half-lie because he missed his friends and family but at the same time the stuffy suit and tie tradition gave him the faint feeling of drowning whenever he thought of it. "Your friends are so righteous. It's like you can be whatever you want here." Now it was Kurt's turn to shake his head.

"My friends are great but the dozen or so of us have been together for years. Not everyone is so kind."

"Why?" Blaine shifted his position and stretched his legs out. Kurt shrugged.

"I've had eggs thrown at me, hair-pulled, even had the manager called on me because I was trying to buy a hat like the one Jackie Kennedy wore with that cream Chanel suit? Well, whatever, the usual abuse. But the worst thing is, the APA says we're mentally unstable, like being who we are is some kind of personality disorder. Well screw them because my personality is fabulous."

Blaine chuckled softly and smiled at him. Kurt sighed and made some attempt to gesture with his hands what he meant to get across.

"Sometimes I think about how they have my name on some list somewhere of known-homosexuals and it just makes me think of how terrifying it was growing up in that little town where they could've printed my name in the newspaper just because they wanted to. Not that I care what anyone thinks, I just didn't want them to do that to my dad. He had it hard enough, raising a fashion-conscious son by himself."

"Yeah I guess." Blaine replied soberly, blown away by the things that must've happened to Kurt on a day-to-day basis.

"Do you think it's true?" Blue eyes stared at him from behind a pair of chopsticks.

"What?"

"That we're screwed up?" Kurt answered, snapping the chopsticks apart.

"No, of course not." Blaine waved his hand in a vehemently dismissive gesture. "Kurt, you know that's B.S."

"I know." Those pink lips pulled into an ironic smile. "Just making sure you know."

The next morning Mike and Artie came over to practice the new number they'd been working on for some weeks. It was Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love" one that would be sure to be popular if they could get it right. They did a run through with Kurt on lead.

"I'm still not feeling it." Puck shrugged, plucking at a string with a dirty fingernail.

"I still think it would work better as a duet." Artie agreed, pressing his glasses up again.

"Grace Slick didn't sing it as a duet." Kurt replied, hand hastily going from the microphone stand to his hip.

"Well you ain't Grace Slick." Puck responded with a roll of his eyes, earning a glare from his roommate.

"Hey, who did we decide was singing this?" Kurt responded.

"Okay, but we tried and his voice clashes with all of the girls'." Mike pointed out, ignoring Kurt's comment. "We need someone with a deeper voice." Blaine glanced over from the couch.

"I could do it." Blaine offered and the room fell silent. Kurt was the first to say anything.

"Blaine, that's really sweet but you don't have to just because you're not paying any of the bills yet. We get by fine." Kurt answered, hiding a blush.

"Uh, no we don't, not with this sponge." Puck cut in, rolling his head but Blaine knew not to take it personally by then.

"Well you've heard us sing, Puck. We sound good together, right?" Blaine suggested, leaning on the couch arm.

"Yeah." The muscled boy agreed with a shrug. "The munchkin's right about that one."

The band traded curious looks and nobody seemed to particularly protest. The front door flew open before anyone could provide any more input. Santana came strutting in, clad in a new sinfully short sweater dress.

"Yes Auntie Tana has returned to bring a little ginchiness to your ragged little lives."

"What do you want, Santana?" Kurt asked, leaning his cheek on the microphone. "Fab dress by the way."

"Thank you." Santana posed appreciatively. "And what I want, Hummel, is you-" A manicured finger pointed at him, inspiring a suspicious look. "-And curls here to go out with me and Britt tonight."

"Oh and why aren't we invited?"

"You into cock now, Puckerman? It's a gay bar." Santana answered with more than enough sass for Kurt and herself. Kurt lifted his head and hushed the proceeding uncomfortable noises from the band with a raise of his hand.

"A gay bar where?"

"Greenwich."

"So you're talking about the Stonewall? Didn't they have a raid just last Tuesday?" Kurt raised an eyebrow and turned a shoulder that way he always did when he was less than satisfied with a person's motives.

"Yeah, but I heard the booze supplies are already back up, and the fuzz are too lazy to raid the same place twice in one week anyway." She answered with a flick of the hand. Kurt shifted his gaze to Blaine.

"Blaine, what do you think?" The other guys seemed to have decided on an impromptu band meeting as they'd turned away to a small huddle apart from the main conversation now going on.

"Oh I don't know…" Blaine answered with a modest shake of the head.

"Well think about it. I know you just came out but it would be a chance to really dance with guys."

"I dance with you, don't I?" Blaine asked innocently and Kurt blushed further, covering it with a cough.

"Wanky." Santana added.

"It's different." Kurt muttered, glaring at the Latina out of the corner of his eye. "Come on. You said you wanted to see the city. Greenwich Village 'is' the city to some people."

"Well why not, then? It'll be an experience, right?"

"Totally." Santana winked and waved her way out the door. "See you kids tonight."

* * *

><p>The Stonewall Inn as it turned out was just a little square building squashed between hulking brick creatures on either side. The windows were covered with plywood, lending Blaine to make a questioning gesture.<p>

"Police raids." Santana explained with a shrug as the four of them approached the peephole at the door. Blaine had never even been near a place like it and had no idea what to expect. When they got inside they signed in, under fake names, of course. The entire room was dark with blank paint on the walls and dance lights serving for most of the illumination. Britt already had Santana by the hand and was pulling her towards the first of the two dance floors. Kurt was shifting from one foot to the other as if deciding where to begin. Blaine watched a flash of pink light dance over Kurt's features. It was the first time he had really looked at him that night, maybe it was the nerves of going to his first actual, well, "gay" event so he hadn't paid much attention to Kurt's primping on the way there. He noted that he was wearing a bit more mascara than usual and the clothes, usually constrained to suits, button-ups, and ascots had a slightly more androgynous look that suited him, nothing outlandish like some of the drag queens scattered around the room, just maybe a little more free.

"Did you tease your hair?" Blaine asked curiously, voice drowned under the dance music and voices. Kurt had found the rhythm by now rotating his waist and snapping his fingers languidly. He made some motion to Blaine indicating he couldn't hear him and Blaine shrugged and nodded understandingly. He pointed towards the bar, earning a smile and nod from the other boy.

The bartender hardly gave him a second look before handing him a cup of beer. Blaine took a drink and instantly stepped back and stuck his tongue out.

"It tastes like water." He complained, scrunching his features at the taste.

"Ha. Welcome to the Stonewall, kid."

Yes, welcome to the Stonewall. Blaine took a moment to survey the bar. The clientele ranged from teenagers to people in their late early twenties, mostly male, a whole palette of colors that didn't seem to have any dominant group other than well, gay guys. Lesbians aside, there were hustlers in suits, drag queens in heels, young pretty men that looked like Kurt, and scrawny kids looking for a free drink or maybe just something to do besides wander the streets of New York. Blaine wondered if in some alternate world where there was no Kurt and no Puck and nowhere to go perhaps he would've been one of those kids. Blaine looked over and saw Kurt had found a redhead with a nice head of hair to dance with, or rather, dance near, Kurt seemed to find ways to coyly slide and twist away, preserving a tiny breath of distance between them. Not that touching was off limits to the rest of the club. Hands were everywhere from waists to thighs to ass, trading kisses, trading numbers. There were men standing neck pressed to neck, arms lazily wrapped around their boyfriends' waists. A woman with in men's slacks with cropped hair laughed and pushed her girlfriends flying locks aside to kiss her repeatedly by the ear until she broke down in giggles. Blaine spent the next half hour letting random guys buy him water-beer, talking and laughing, and trying to avoid the protective feelings he had every time the redhead got a little bit closer to Kurt. I felt good though, whatever it was, this… acceptance. The shoddiness of the place itself was eclipsed by the darkness and the sense of freedom, some brief safety from the judgment of the outside world.

And then everything changed. Blaine felt a sudden burning sensation as the rainbow of dance lights switched back to a blinding whiteness. Several voices, Kurt's among them, announce something along the lines of "shit!" and couples flew apart. Everything was illuminated again, taking the crowd out of the false haven and back to an ugly reality. The throng of people began to surge in three different directions and Blaine looked around wildly. A crowd of two hundred bodies jostled past him, heading for the doors and bathrooms. What was going on? He looked around for some form of guidance, only to find that he wasn't the only one confused. He barely heard Kurt over his own panicked pulse. He hadn't even noticed him approach. "Blaine, we have to go!" The brunette yelled, grabbing his arm. Blaine looked to the door and was assaulted with the vision of police officers.

"Everyone line up and have your identification out!" One cop yelled.

"What is it?" Blaine asked, looking to Kurt who had his fingers around his arm.

"It's a police raid." Kurt whispered and Blaine's heart stopped. Images from the newspaper of names and faces, "Suspected homosexual outed at gay raid" flashed through his mind. He could see his mother flipping through the Bugle over her cup of black coffee in the walls of that white upstate Colonial and stopping to find her own son's black and white face staring back at her from the scandals page. Would they actually arrest him? Or Kurt?

"Oh God." He barely breathed it when someone pushed him and he found himself up against the South wall with Kurt on his left and a line of men and women in front of him. There were cops at every entrance now. No escape.

"Blaine-" Kurt began, perhaps to offer some advice or maybe to apologize, he would never know.

"I said ID's out!" One policeman announced, swinging a billy club between his fingers. The officers started down the line and Blaine held his breath. He could hardly believe what was happening, but it was true. The fuzz were going down the line checking everyone for legal ID. They spotted Santana and Brittany again from across the room.

"Hey! You think you can touch my girl like that?" Santana screamed, finger waving as one officer got a little too handsy on Brittany while frisking her.

"Move it, dyke." Was the piggish response and Santana was pushed roughly to the side, which only set her off again.

"Vete al carajo, tu hijo de puta!" Santana was still screaming when they reached Blaine. He handed out his draft slip and the officer looked it over with a look that was so cold and utterly disgusted Blaine couldn't help but think of his own father, tall and thin, peering at his from behind square metal glasses.

"Anderson, huh?" A hand grabbed the back of his neck and Kurt tried to whisper something to him but it was masked by a gruff "Come on, boy" as the officer dragged him to the door and pushed him out to the concrete. He stumbled out the door and tripped, the ground scraping his palms. The crowd booed. Wait, crowd? Blaine looked up and saw a mob of people that couldn't have been there before. They appeared mostly to be gay men but there were a few passersby as well, at least as numerous as those still in the club. A transvestite in a green mini-dress ran to him, heels clicking with every step.

"You okay, babe?" she asked and Blaine nodded. She helped him up off the ground as the crowd continued to playfully berate the cops as Blaine was pulled into the safe throng of spectators. There was a light energy as the patrons began to come out one by one. They laughed and would cheer every time someone strutted out of the club, middle fingers waving, perhaps striking a pose or saluting the officers. It was an incredible show. Someone screamed "Gay power!" Another group had begun singing

_The Lord will see us through, The Lord will see us through,  
>The Lord will see us through someday;<br>Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe,  
>We shall overcome someday.<em>

This was… completely new. Something had inspired this people to stop in the dead of night and actually say something about the abrupt destruction of The Stonewall's happy delusions. But there was a sickly feeling in the pit of Blaine's stomach as things went on. Brittany came out, performing a cartwheel of all things, and he could hear Santana ranting inside but time seemed to pass too slowly. Then panic set in again, like a bolt of lightning to his brain. Where was Kurt?

"I said, where's your identification, fag?"

"Bite me." Kurt responded fiercely.

"You've got a pretty voice, you a fag or a dyke? Maybe we should have one of the lady officers take you to the bathroom and check." The cop laughed cruelly and a fat hand reached for his shoulder. Kurt shoved it away.

"Don't touch me!" he hissed, instantly raising a finger. "You think you're real special pushing people around. Well it's not going to do anything. We're gay, you can raid all the bars you want, and throw all the Neanderthal slurs your sloppy under-evolved lips can manage, but it's not going to change anything because we'll just keep on coming back!"

"Oh is that right? Well you want to dance, Fancy? Fine, you can dance in prison."

Blaine was still waiting for Kurt to emerge from the club but he wasn't coming. His best friend was still in that place and the vibe throughout the mob was not getting any better. The crowd's cackles turned into an unsatisfied muttering and then people began to fling pennies and small cans towards the officers someone shouted, "They're beating 'em inside!" And Blaine's heart stopped, unable to stand the mental image of a broken bleeding version of Kurt. The people searched their pockets and barraged the cops with pennies and other projectiles anytime they emerged. Blaine heard Brittany scream excitably and quickly turned his head towards the door to see Santana emerge in handcuffs, being manhandled by several officers.

"Chinga a tu madre, desgrasciado! Escucha, soy de LimaHeightsAdjacent, y yo tengo orguro orgullo! ¿Sabes lo que pasa en LimaHeightsAdjacent? Cosas malas!"

"San!" Brittany screamed from the crowd to get her girlfriend's attention.

"Britt! Tell these bitches to do something!" Santana called, trying to elbow the officer in the face as he hoisted her over his shoulder and threw her violently into the back of the police wagon. That was when everything broke. The tension of the crowd couldn't sustain itself anymore and people went mad. Everything was being thrown now. The screaming got angrier, moving away from irony to righteous fury. A man near to Blaine lit a garbage can on fire and kicked it in the direction of the cops. The police came down on them, shoving people to the street, and provoking them further. Blaine struggled through the riot, avoiding billy clubs and small change alike. The smell of burning paper grew more and more potent with every step. He saw a young hustler smash a bottle on a cop car. He cringed away from the explosion of glass and that's when he saw Kurt.

His perfectly teased and quaffed hair was a wild mess, his clothes were crumpled and he was fighting frantically to escape the grip of an officer that had such a hold on him his boots didn't even touch the ground. His hands weren't in cuffs yet, but that appeared the only blessing.

"Blaine!" He yelled as another officer came down upon him, muscular arms grabbing for his legs while a club was pressed against his clavicle.

"Kurt!" Blaine shoved though the crowd, burning paper at his feet as he ran to Kurt. Bottles flew past his head. Kurt's elbows were flying and Blaine pressed past the second officer who grabbed him as someone turned a hose on the crowd. Blaine was still reaching for the younger boy's hand as the other went to yank the club away. The officer released the club to swat away the crowd that had found bricks at a construction site nearby. The loss of pressure gave Kurt leverage to heave forward and reach for Blaine's outstretched arm as the officers continued to try and pull him. The hands around his waist he knew were trying to drag him, among others, toward the brimming police wagon. His lips were open and he must've been screaming but Blaine couldn't hear over the water and the yelling. They grabbed for each other and missed. The pure terror Blaine felt when that white hand slipped out of his scratched and calloused one was the fullest thing he had felt in months. It was as if someone had forced pure energy into his veins. He reached out again and felt cold soft skin latch onto his wrist. He pulled as Kurt kicked the officer in the knee and was released with a howl. He scrambled to escape and they rushed to each other's arms. Kurt hugged him, shoulders shaking with adrenaline and completely indifferent to the second spray of water that came over them and the rest of the crowd.

"What about Santana?" Blaine asked loudly over the sounds of struggle around them.

"I saw her get out of the wagon, I don't know where..." A shattering of wood signaled that the rioters had made it past the plywood covering the Stonewall's windows just beside them.

"Freeze or we'll shoot!" The bleak distant voice of an officer demanded as the room was mobbed.

"You can't touch us!" Kurt yelled, ready to run into the bar himself. Blaine grabbed his waist and held him back.

"Are you crazy? We have to go." There were further crashing noises and cheers from the aggravated mob as a billow of smoke ascended out of the back of the building. Brittany and Santana ran to them.

"Let's get out of here, pronto." Santana suggested with her hands still cuffed. There seemed to be hesitance in Kurt but everyone agreed and they hurried towards their neighborhood and Puck's garage where they could find tools to get the cuffs off. There was something different about Kurt though. He walked with energy and the moon lit up his face as he continued looking back at the small pillar of smoke behind them.

"We did that." The young male breathed. "We finally told them they can't just push us around anymore. I just feel like, if we can do that, maybe things are going to change now." The pure high coming off of him made Blaine smile and Santana seemed to agree as she awkwardly looped her arms over his head and hugged him cheek-to-cheek.

"Yeah, maybe it will, boy."

At the garage Kurt found an oversized jean shirt and pulled it on over his other, rolling up the sleeves and tying it at the waist. He made some excuse about not wanting to get his clothes dirty which seemed nonsensical considering their state already. He was clearly still invigorated by the experience and Brittany was talking to Santana endlessly, checking her for bruises, poking each limb and asking. "That doesn't hurt does it?" to which Santana would scowl but answer with an honest yes or no. If she said yes, Brittany would insist upon kissing it. Kurt retrieved a pair of pliers from his tools and with some help from the other two managed to pry the cuffs off. The girls hugged happily and Blaine turned to Kurt.

"Did they hurt you in there?" He asked. Kurt just cleaned his hands off and rubbed his neck.

"No. I mean, I'll probably have some bruises on my ribs from when they grabbed me but I'll be fine. Are you okay?" He looked at the darker haired boy. Blaine showed his scratched up hands.

"But that's the extent of it. Let me see your bruises."

Kurt hesitated but lifted his shirt. There were light greenish marks on either side of his torso, making Blaine frown.

"Look Blaine, you gotta know how heavy this is. Nobody's ever fought against a police raid like that. We sent them running scared. They would have arrested all of us."

"You're right, I felt it too." Blaine replied, resisting the urge to touch the bruise as if he could brush it away like dirt. "But I think maybe we shouldn't do that duet, not just yet." Blaine wondered if he would be upset but Kurt just laughed and turned his lips to an ironic side smile.

"Whatever you want to do, Blaine." He smiled. "Whatever you want to do."

* * *

><p>(AN: The protester is singing the gospel song "We Shall Overcome")


End file.
